


Have Mercy

by AmatureWriter



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, Developing Friendships, Heavy Angst, I swear I have a writing schedule, Implied/Referenced Character Death, I’m just tired, Like my life, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, ROCan, ROUS, Trust, Trust Issues, USUK - Freeform, With studying, and this performance I’m in, which is going no where
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-05-19 17:57:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19361809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmatureWriter/pseuds/AmatureWriter
Summary: All was well, until an unexpected cure for death  turns against the entire population. Now the world is full of the dead walking and biting, turning those into ‘live ones’ for five days before they succumb to the infection and spread the disease.Alfred F. Jones, Arthur Kirkland, Matthew Williams and Peter Kirkland are all trying to survive and keep their ammo in check. They seem to be doing okay until they meet a live one named Ivan Braginsky- a Russian soldier who has only three days left on his clock. And is begging for Mercy. The team has no reason to trust or waste ammo on this new person, but (maybe) they will start to see him from a new perspective before it is too late.





	1. Everyone Hates The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small group had found themselves in the woods when they come across a staggering figure- who’s wounds are days old yet he does not seem to be like the others who share his attributes.

The woods were usually peaceful, birds chirping in the distance, the river that was never close enough until you were right next to it and the occasional jogger who would give you a pleasant smile as they followed the path. The woods were usually peaceful, but not today. And not for a long time.

Alfred F. Jones paused and raised a hand, signaling those behind him to stop. All of them stopping except one, who bumped into the much taller person in front of him. “Oh, bugger off Peter!” Arthur Kirkland whisper yelled behind him, turning his face to make sure nothing was behind his little brother and also to glare at him. Alfred rolled his sky eyes at their antics and his gloved hand went down to signal a clear cost and for them all to keep moving. “Alfred, if you keep pulling this crap off every five minutes I’m going to have an aneurism,” said Arthur.

“Oh lighten up, Arty. I’m just trying to keep us safe,” Alfred replied, wiping a hand over his sweat-filled forehead. Arthur copied his movements.

“And if by keeping us safe you mean letting the creatures behind us get closer to us? then you’re doing a grand job!” Arthur quietly clapped his hands in mock approval. His large eyebrows black furrowed even more than usual. 

A quiet, yet pleading voice popped up behind them. “Uh, guys can we please try to keep the arguing to a minimum?” Asked the younger brother of Alfred, who’s sandy blonde hair matched his brother’s in every way but style. 

“Sure thing, Matt,” Alfred said. “We should keep the arguing to a minimum, right Arty?” 

“Oh bugger off you bloody idiot-” Arthur’s increasingly loud voice was cut off by a stumbling figure in the distance. “Oh… Alfred, is that?” the figure was stepping on cracking sticks and dry leaves, creating a harsh sound whenever his feet shuffled along the floor and his clothes were torn to a much greater extent than the groups’ and his greasy black hair shone in the setting sun. Then there was then smell, which wafted a good three feet in front of him.

The American nodded, his eyes hardening. He wrapped his scarf around his face (the others following suit and Arthur helped out Peter with his) and he aimed his rifle at the figure. “Stay back!” he yelled. The figure did nothing but walk closer to them, deaf to all words but not sound and seemingly blind. But his nose seemed to work perfect as he raised his head in the air and made a comical sniffing motion.

“Alfie, don’t get too close!” Matthew said, holding his arm out as if he could catch and stop his brother from moving forward. “I think it’s too late for him to hear us!”

“Look at his wounds, Mattie, it’s just days old,” Alfred was correct in his assessment as the creature had only been bitten just days prior to their encounter. “He’s probably just being an ass ‘cause he got bitten,” the creature made no attempts to stop, even as the rifle was aimed directly at his head. “Dude, seriously. Stop moving and head the other way, okay? I’m not going to waste my shit and mercy you,” he cocked his and showed the safety was off. “But is you keep moving I’m going to have to.”

Matthew held Peter behind him as they creature would not relent in its movements. “Alfred, you going to have to-” his words were cut off as well by the sound of a gun firing close and he held his ears. “At least warn us next time,” he mumbled, ears ringing painfully.

The sound could be heard for miles, and it echoed across the forest. So did the British man's yelling that followed said shot. “You bumbling idiot, you absolute daft prick! You have any idea how many creatures heard us? How many live ones heard us?” How many will be begging for mercy if they stumble upon us. How many bullets will be wasted because they had to mercy the live ones. Both were left unsaid, but both were understood perfectly.

Alfred cringed at the yelling, but did nothing to shut the older man up. Finally after the lecture was over did the American speak up in tiny, insignificant words. “I’m sorry Okay, I freaked out…” his head hung low and his long hair moved in front.

Arthur softened his glare by a fraction and sighed. “I can’t say I blame you, I’ve never seen one so early that turned so quickly,” and Matthew nodded in agreement. 

“Whatever,” Alfred said, flipping his locks back and readjusting his backpack and turning the safety on his rifle. “Let’s just get out of these stupid woods, I hate all the blind spots.”

The two men nodded and Peter was yet again moved to the middle of them, sandwiched close between them both as Alfred walked ahead. “How long until we get out?” The child asked, scratching his nose and fiddling with his scarf- earning himself a slap on the wrist via Arthur.

“I don’t know, kiddo. I don’t know.”


	2. Chapter 2: This Is Not A Drill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an ordinary morning turns sour when Alfreds brother comes home in a sorrowful mood. The news reveals his secret and just as they are about to pack for their escape a stranger bursts through. Matthew, Arthur and Peter mange to make their escape, but Alfred is stuck helping this mysterious person kill these mad people.

Sizzling bacon and eggs woke up the occupants in the large flat and beckoned them all to the kitchen. Which was filled with an upbeat and fast paced steam punk song and the man in there was dancing along to it as he cooked. 

A chair squeaked and the youngest of them all sat on the high chair stool, wiggling his body to get on comfortably and he licked his lips in anticipation of the delicious food. “Alfred, is it ready yet?” the blonde haired child said impatiently. This earned him a slap upside the head from his older brother. 

“Be patient, Peter” he ordered.

“Dude, stop hitting the kid. Be more gentle,” Alfred said, turning around to point the spatula at the Brit before making sure the bacon had not burned.

“I’m only just teaching him the way my parents taught me.”

“Yeah, and look how that turned out,” Alfred laughed loudly as the crumpled up napkin Arthur threw landed in the pot of fat by the sink. “You also need to work on your aim.”

“Oh bugger off.”

Peter giggled at their small argument, hiding his face in his hands. Arthur turned to look out the window and the corner of his lips cracked a small smile.

Just then the door opened and in walked Matthew, his usually upbeat and calm attitude was now sour and grey. He stomped his way into the kitchen and threw his briefcase and overcoat over the couch and slumped on the island stool, his head in his hands and his breathing stuttered. 

“Matthew, what’s wrong?” Arthur asked, coming over to the Canadian’s side and placing a gentle had on his back.

“We’ve done it now…” is all he muttered. 

“Done what?” Arthur looked up to Alfred, who was finishing up the food and placing it all on plates and on the marble island. Peter happily dug in, unaware of Matthews grim attitude.

“Just turn on the news, you’ll see…” Alfred did so quickly and immediately it turned from the sports to an emergency broadcast. The two watched the tv as Matthew sunk lower into the seat, knowing what was to be said. 

“This is not a drill,” the prerecorded voice said in its monotone voice. “Please remain calm and do not leave your home for any reason, no matter how important; and never open the door for anyone, not even loved ones. Martial law has gone into effect and anyone caught outside will be detained and or exterminated on sight. The military will be in your state confiscating supplies and removing you from your homes if necessary.” 

The voice cut out as so did the electricity and everything turned a bit more grey. The only light came from the glass walls which allowed the sun to pour in. Arthur brought Peter to his chest and a loud banging at the door caused the child to scream. 

“Matthew, what the fuck happened?” Alfred said, walking towards the door as the banging only increased in volume. 

“We did this!” he said. “We did all of this.”

“I’m afraid that’s not good enough, bro explain now!” Alfred locked the apartment doors up and walked back to the kitchen, yanking his brother by the shoulders so they looked into each others eyes. 

Matthew’s tears increased and he blurted out truths that would get him fired and locked up. “I don’t know what it's called, but we thought we could cure death. We thought we could, but only made it worse.”

Alfred shook his brother. “Stop with the movie talk! What is happening?” He enunciated every word strongly. 

“We brought them back from the dead, and they were fine for five days. We were about to announce it but then things went wrong, things went so horribly wrong. And they started biting the others. But we couldn’t get too close to them or we would go insane too,” he shuddered out. “I wasn’t in the main lab, yet heard everything... they sent us home. I didn’t think it would get this bad. I didn’t think martial law would come up.” 

An explosion went off in the distance and Peter screamed louder, covering his ears. “We need to get out of here,” Arthur breathed out as the building not even sixteen blocks away went up in flames. “We need to get out before they bomb any other buildings.” 

Alfred nodded and hauled Matthew off the chair. “Grab anything you can!” he ordered.

“Didn’t the man just say to stay inside?” Peter asked, looking up at Alfred. 

“I don’t care what the dude said, we need to leave now-” his argument stopped as the banging on the door ceased and was replaced by someone coming through the door with a loud smash and chunks of debri flew into the kitchen and living room. The person who had broken through- wearing bloodied S.W.A.T. gear- turned around and fired a heavy looking black gun at people screaming what sounded like ‘shoot me’. “What the fuck?” Alfred yelled, eyes wide as the families only barrier had been turned into nothing but splinters. 

Arthur stood stock still by the island, his heart hammering in his chest and his ribs aching at the speed of his shortened breaths. Peter had lunged onto his older brother, squeezing his sides tight and burying his face into the others chest. “Arthur-” he said weakly. It was like a switch went off in Arthur’s brain and he ran into action- he grabbed the younger and placed him on the floor: effectively blocking Peter from the intruder. And he glared hard as he backed them both to a well, sandwiching the young child between himself and a cupboard. “If I tell you to get in, you will do so. Understand?” He felt a soft nod against his hip. “Good.”

Alfred was still dealing with the unknown person: he grabbed a large cutting knife and slid it across the floor once the gun started to make clicking sounds and the owner shook it desperately. The person gave what looked like a nod and began to hack at the still oncoming hoard of shouting people. 

Matthew had just finished packing up the bare necessities and ran up to the two others. “We need to leave- now,” he said to Arthur, grabbing the Brit’s elbow and pushing him away from the wall. Peter grabbed onto Arthur’s shirt to keep up. 

“What about Alfred?” Arthur asked, looking behind to the American- who had joined in on the hacking with a smaller butchers knife. “We cannot just leave him here!”

“He’ll be fine. We need to clear a path so when he’s done there won’t be anymore trouble getting out,” the Canadian reasoned as he continued to push them to the emergency door. Each apartment had one, considering it mostly housed important people such as scientists and politicians. He opened the heavy white door and pulled the two in. “Hurry!” and they all ran off down the hall and stairwell.

Alfred and the stranger brought their respective weapons down on the people again. The blondes face stone cold and his movements almost robotic, the stranger moved in similar fashion. Both going up and down like broken records. Finally, after what seemed like hours but was only just over forty-five minutes, the swarm of humans stopped and they both backed away: heaving in oxygen and dropping their knives on the floor with loud clatters. They turned to each other and the stranger yanked off their helmet, revealing the long blonde locks, a red yet delicate face and blue eyes similar to the American’s. The stranger, male, gave Alfred a glance before dropping his helmet the same way he dropped his knife and turning around. “Where are your friends?” he asked, his accent almost a stereotypical french one. 

“My… my what?” Alfred stuttered, turning around quickly and looking around. 

“Your friends, I heard more.” 

“Oh, they went…” he turned to the emergency exit and saw the door locked open. “That way, down the stairs.” 

The man nodded and picked up his knife, then made his way towards the exit. Not giving Alfred a second glance even after we walked into the dark stairwell.   
“Hey, wait up!” and Alfred ran after him, picking his butchers knife up as well and giving the main door a second look. “I’m Alfred,” he introduced himself once he caught up- holding out his hand.

 

“Francis Bonnefoy,” The man said back, leaving the American hanging and walking down the first flight of twenty-two.


	3. Chapter 3: The Stairwell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew, Arthur and Peter have a little bit more trouble than just getting out. Alfred and Francis find themselves in a pickle while trying to get out and meet a strange new person—are they friend or are they foe?

With a bang the emergency exit opened up and the three fell out and into the street, gasping; Matthew flopped over to the open door and threw his weight on it. The door closed and the Canadian fell to the floor. “Shit,” he breathed out. 

“Language!” Arthur yelled out with little anger and he covered Peter’s ears, who slipped out of his grasp and sat on the cobbled, cracked floor. He breathed heavy and his eyes were leaking frustrated tears. 

“I don’t like this-” he coughed. “Not one bit.” Arthur nodded, sitting down, and cradled the blonde to his chest: trying to offer some support to his brother. 

“How did this spread so fast Matthew?” the brit asked as said Canadian as he joined the duo on the floor, still standing to watch out for any more of those crazy people. 

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know… one moment it was five… the next it was five hundred…” his voice was just has slow has his shake and it was dazed, like he had just woken up. 

“It’s alright, lad,” Arthur placed a hand on Matthews thigh and pat him. “Take it easy before you mind decides to break down.” 

Matthew sighed and sat down his head going back into his hands and he began to shake, rough sobs escaping from his lips. “I helped make this- I don’t know how many I’ve killed because of it,” he looked back up towards the stairwell door. “I-I don’t even… know if Alfred’s even alive! He could be one of them right now because we decided to play god-!”

“Oh hush!” Arthur yelled. “Just shut your mouth for one momeny and think about this: Alfred may be the thickest person I know, but what he lacks in conventional intellect he makes up for in strength and planning…” the blonde softened his gaze and his hand moved to the others shoulder. “He will be alright, trust me.” 

The stairwell was dark and something was dripping onto the floor, echoing throughout the quiet floor. Alfred had to admit: it was amazing how quickly things could turn into complete anarchy. It was as if this ‘apocalypse’ had been going on for over a week and not just a couple hours. Alfred made a mental note to ask his brother just how long this entire scenario had been going on for. It could have been as little as two hours and as long as eighteen for all he knew. The American caught a glimpse of Francis peering down to as far as he could see, and an idea came to mind. 

“Hey, Francis… you’re a high ranking government figure, yeah?” 

“What?” the Frenchman asked. “No, I’m SWAT. What made you think that?” Alfred shrugged causing his eyebrow was raised at the taller as they reached the twentieth floor, the lack of sufficient lighting making it only just possible to read the sign. “Are the lights always like this, or is it just today?” 

“It’s always like this… not sure why because it's extremely inconvenient even in a normal emergency.” 

“And you wouldn’t class this as a normal emergency?” 

“People going berserk? Only on the fourth of July!” Alfred smiled, but his face suddenly looked to the ground. “But this…? This is a different type of berserk. It’s not normal for a mob of people to come at you- begging you to murder them. And you can only do just that because you’re scared of what they might to do you if you don’t,” a tear ran down his face and Alfred took off his glasses. “I’m sorry, dude… I’ve just- I’ve just never had to… had to do that before. To so many people. So many humans.”

“Hey now,” Francis stopped them both and held onto the American’s shoulders, turning him around so they both faced each other. “Now is not the time for a mental breakdown. You need to be strong,” he smiled softly and wiped the tear away, his actions too comfortable for someone he had just met. But human contact seemed to be necessary. “I was exactly like you when- the first time I was forced to do that. Albeit it was only one, but I cried my eyes out when it happened. You’re already so much more stronger than I am… or you’re a psycho,” this earned a small chuckle from Alfred. “You can cry, you can scream, you can let it all out. Just not right now; because right now we need to get down these stairs and get to your family to keep them safe. Okay?” Alfred nodded and sniffed hard, putting his slightly fogged glasses back on and standing straight. “There you go! Now let’s get down.” He nodded and they continued their descent. 

“Thank you…” came the soft mumble a few steps later. 

Francis smiled and put an arm around Alfred’s shoulders, bringing him in. “No problem, mon ami!” and he winked. Alfred laughed and shooed the Frenchman away. 

Their fit of giggles came to a halt as the sound of a door slamming open and hitting the metal wall a story down echoed and so did their steps. The two paused and looked down, trying to see something in the dim red light; nothing. But they did not need to see in order to know what that blood curdling screech and the loud pained pleas belonged to. Francis shot Alfred a side glance to signal the latter to get armed and ready, Alfred nodded in return and held up his butchers knife, and a determined like emotion shone in his sky blue eyes. 

“Kill me, please,” the creature cried out, sobbing hysterically. “It hurts--It hurts so bad!” and banging sounded as it began to whack itself against the metal railing. 

Francis held a finger up to his soft lips then walked ahead of Alfred, his long knife raised and his eyes slanted as he tried to focus his vision on something or someone. The creature cried out again and the blonde walked down another few steps, Alfred hot on his heels. He raised his weapon and quietly tried to sneak up on it, his feet moving ever so slowly and calculated as he got closer to the scared animal in front of him. All was quiet, no one made a sound--except the pleading creature--and Francis held his knife high ready to strike down. 

A heavy door opened from the same floor the duo had just came down from and whoever had opened it was panting loudly and groaned as they closed the door, and sickening wet crunch came after. The creature turned around and came at Francis and pinned him to the floor, snapping at him and pleading for death. The person upstairs came rushing down, almost slamming into Alfred as they did and instead shoved him into the metal wall.

“Hey!” Alfred yelled, but the person held him against the wall as Francis began to scream loudly. “Dude let go!” in desperation, he whammed the handle on the knife down on the person’s shoulder-- forcing them to let go and so Alfred could help. He sent the blade flying down to the creatures skull, which cut it open and warm blood spewed everywhere. 

“Stand back!” the stranger ordered, hauling Francis off the ground and holding him by under the pits and facing Alfred. The Frenchman was limp, his body twitching the only signs of movement. 

Alfred held up his gun, moving it from Francis’ head to the strangers head. “Who are you? And let go of him!” 

The now clearly male hesitated before speaking. “My name is Heracles Karpusi, and letting this man go is anything but a good idea. But he’ll be fine soon, trust me,” then Francis looked up, his eyes unfocused and drooling. He began to mumble things.

“Kill me… please. I can’t feel. I can’t feel, I can’t feel!” tears formed in his dull blue eyes and the drool from his mouth went from clear to white. 

“Don’t shoot him!” Heracles said as Alfred pulled up a gun. “He’ll be fine, I was too.”   
Alfred took a step back, not lowering his gun. “What do you mean?”

Heracles visibly tightened his grip with one arm, the man looking like he was a god carved from stone, and lifted an arm up. “Because I was bitten too.”

Matthew looked around the parking lot and the buildings and small alleyways that surrounded them. “We can’t sit out here in the open like sitting ducks for much longer,” he sighed and stood up. “Everyone can see us like this.”

“So where do you suggest going?” Arthur asked. “There isn’t anywhere to go, lad… unless you want to have a gamble with the stairwell.”

“What about in there?” Matthew pointed to a gas station.

“And what if Alfred comes back out and doesn’t see us anywhere? What’s he going to think then?” 

“I’ll put up a sign for him, there’s probably materials in there.”

Arthur frowned and gave the gas station another look. “I’m not moving,” he said stubbornly.

“Arthur?” Peter asked. “I don’t want to stay out here.”

“Oh my- you be quiet! You’ll disagree with anything I say.”

“But I really don’t like it out here,” the child’s eyes widened in a silent plea.

“... Oh, alright, fine! But if anything is in there I’ll be extremely cross- with the both of you!”


	4. Got Any Bites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heracles reveals something about the infection that has Alfred intrigued. Arthur, Matthew and Peter are now hiding safely.

“Explain, Hercules” Alfred had not moved from his position, gun still trained on the muscular man in front of him who still managed to hold a thrashing Francis with one arm.

“It’s actually Hera—“

“Yeah, I know, it’s just a— never mind. Explain now before I blow your brains out!” The red lights had turned a shade brighter, either that or he had just became used to it, and the other’s tatters white shirt and dusty cargo pants had become visible. Heracles was dressed as though he had already been in an apocalypse himself. 

“What do you want me to say?” 

“Everything.” 

Heracles took a deep sigh and continued to show Alfred his bite mark. “I was homeless, am still homeless, and these people came around the ghettos asking for volunteers for some experiment. Said they would give us over a hundred for doing it,” he laughed. “How could I, someone who barely even had two cents in my shoe, say no? Anyways, they took us to this facility where we were fed, bathed, clothed and given medication— so much better than living under a highway— and in a week they said we were good to go forward with the experiment…” 

The Greek male looked around the white room, a couple of his friends in hospital beds close to where he was laying. “How much worse could this be from living in mud?” he asked to Sadík. 

“Don’t you dare say things like that, asshole—remember last Christmas? ‘Oh how much worse could this be from November, Sadík, they’ll at least give us shelter.’ And look how that turned out!” the Turk mocked Heracles in a high pitched fake girly voice and showed his leg, which bore a long white scare going from his heel up to his inner knee. “Couldn’t walk for two goddamn weeks. So don’t you dare say things like that.” 

Heracles stuck up his middle finger. “Oh shut up, you also wanted to go.” 

“Yeah, but at least I didn’t jinx it!” 

“Gentlemen, could you please calm down the trail— test is about to begin.” A lady’s voice was heard and it echoed around the room. 

“Did she just say ‘trail’?” Sadík whispered, to which Heracles could only look away as his stomach sunk deep. 

The blue liquid that filled the IV bag began to drain into the small tube and into the needle that stuck out of the patient’s arms. He could feel the liquid being pushed into his bloodstream, feel as it moved about and saw as it turned his veins a deep purple. It was uncomfortable to say the least and it became hard to breath, felt like his lungs weighed a ton. He sucked in a deep breath and shakily let it out. His arm started to twitch uncontrollably and the rest of his joints followed, jerking around as the blue liquid engulfed more of his blood. Heracles screamed loudly, as did everyone else, and he managed to pry himself from the restraints that held him down. Glass shattered and the Greek looked to his left, his vision blurry, but he could still see as red overtook the pristine white of the room and screams echoed in his head. 

“That’s all I remember. I felt like a stranger in my own body and everything sped up and all I knew was the need to bite someone— like an animal teething. And everything hurt; my veins burned. I could feel everything; my blood moving: my bones shifting: my stomach and how it turned in circles. But I couldn’t think properly, like my brain was on autopilot and all it could do was feel pain, hunger and jerk me around,” he groaned and moved his arm to his head, as if thinking had physically hurt him. “I don’t know. It was all… like a nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from no matter how hard I tried.” 

At some point, Alfred’s gun had lowered to his side as Heracles explained the bite wound, and more about the virus testing. “When did you stop going all crazy?” Francis was still thrashing about, but he was muttering things rather harshly with his face scrunched up. 

“I don’t know the exact time, but I’d say around this morning just as the sun rose.” 

“And how long were you like that?”

“I don’t know! Just before noon maybe?” came Heracles’ frustrated voice after a few seconds of thinking. “Why do you need to know this?” 

“So I can convince my family not to bash in Francis’ head when we get out!” 

“There is more of you?” 

Alfred sighed. “Yes, three more of us outside and waiting. Speaking of them we need to get a move on before anymore of those crazy people come after us.” The brunette nodded and placed his other arm around Francis for extra measure as they hurried down the steps, going much faster than before due to the imminent problem. “By the way, how did you even get in here? Much less the floor you were on…?”

“Oh, the door was open and people were rushing out, so I just walked in and into an elevator,” he explained as though it were the most obvious answer in the world. 

“Why?” Alfred asked, a smile on his face.

Heracles shrugged. “Why not?” to that the American laughed and patted the other on the back. 

“Name’s Alfred. F. Jones!” And he held out his hand, taking it back one he remembered the other’s to be full. “Eh, sorry, dude.”

 

Arthur held his hands to Peter’s ears as Matthew rammed his elbow into the glass window, causing it to crack and brake loudly. “Was that really the best way to get in?” he asked, looking around the street for any people, crazy or not, walking by. ‘Where is everyone--’ 

“Yeah, it was either that or breaking down the door and I’m not dealing with that…” The alarm had not came on, nor were the froster machines working. It was definitely a city wide power outage. A helicopter flew over top, its loud buzzing noise and deep pops making its presence known to even the hardest of hearers. Matthew looked up and shook his head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole city heard that—those crazy people are probably following it.” Speak of the devils and they shall arrive, screaming please and loud roars were heard from down the street and car alarms started to blare loudly. “Alright, inside we go!” Matthew grabbed Peter from under the arms and hauled him into the convenient store, making sure the child did not land on any glass. After Peter was safely in the store, Arthur was singled to go next and the Brit complied with just a few grumbles, getting in and going straight for his younger brother to check for any small cuts he was too ‘big’ to tell anyone about. Matthew took one last look around the street and to the apartment exit before hopping over the glass and slicing his hand on one of the shards. “Fuck!” he whispered and Arthur, not exactly scolding the him for swearing went right off to the first aid kit in the room and opened it up, and placed alcohol wipe on the wound then wrapped it up; he ignored Matthews soft whimpers of pain and then took a step back to get a better look at his work. 

“Okay, was that really the best way of getting in or did you just want to show off?” he asked, an amused smirk on his face. 

“I really don’t know how Alfred handles you…” Matthew muttered rolling his eyes and looking around the store for a pen and paper. 

“I handle him.” 

Peter just looked at the both of them in confusion, but he was quickly distracted by the sweets that gave the store its signature smell. Arthur watched with a roll of his eyes as the child went to grab the first packet of sweets however, before he could open them Arthur took it out of his hands and placed it back. “You can’t just steal candy!” Arthur scolded. 

“But no one will care! And it’s just one,” Peter pleaded, looking at Arthur with wide eyes. 

The Brit sighed loudly and handed the packet back and it crinkled as Peter opened it and as he ate it. “Can you believe him—?” Arthur was about to say to Matthew, though as he turned around the Canadian had already began digging into a packet of beef jerky while writing on a piece of receipt paper with a blue pen. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” 

 

Alfred kicked open the emergency door, breathing heavy and the two knives in both of his hands, and his eyes slanted as he looked around the back street for any signs of people. Crazy or not. “We’re all clear!” he yelled back, stepping out of the way and holding the door open of Heracles could walk through. 

“Kill me!” Francis screamed out, his voice raw yet it did not look as though he cared. Like the pain from the infection was overpowering his bloodied vocal cords. “Please, please it hurts!” 

“Sorry buddy… it’ll be over soon.” 

Heracles readjusted his grip on the struggling Frenchman again, still going strong on his hold. “I thought you said that the infection made you stronger?” Alfred asked, looking at the tense up biceps the Greek man held. 

“It does.” 

“So why do you look like this is nothing? I saw how strong he was before the bite…” 

Heracles shrugged and clenched up one of his arms harder, flexing on Alfred— who again offered a slight chuckle. 

They walked onto the deserted street and the sound of paper flying in the wind alerted them to a light post, where a small rectangular piece of paper had been taped too. The American was just about to chuckle at how cliché the words were until he read the name signed at the bottom. He tore off the paper and ran off towards a blacked out gas station, much like the rest of the small buildings surrounding them, and leaving the other confused in his wake. Heracles followed Alfred after some hesitation and dragged along the third, who had resorted to biting him; weird how it was that the bites had not made the brunette feel any different. Like it could not attack again after already infecting a host. 

Alfred threw open the door to the store, breaking whatever security was there with a click and almost getting hit by a small tin of Pringles. “Dudes, what the hell?” he whisper yelled, glaring at the three huddled together. 

“You moron, we heard you running up here and thought you was one of them!” Arthur scolded, the relieved look and posture of his predicted his next words. “I’m glad you’re alright…” and Matthew nodded. Peter had wiggled himself out of Arthur’s grip and had gone running straight for Alfred, but stopped shortly and pointed behind the American. 

“Who’s that?” 

Alfred looked behind him. “Oh, y'all remember Francis yeah? Well, we met another guy in there! Heracles Karpusi… and he knows somethings we don’t about this.”


	5. Chapter 5: Eighteen Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group head out of the gas station and find a homeless shelter to stay the night while waiting for Francis to turn back to “normal”.

“What?” Matthew asked as Heracles walked through the door holding Francis is his arms—who was still thrashing about. 

Arthur stood up quickly. “Is that the guy who broke in?” he asked, grabbing another Pringles can and aiming it. “He’s turned into one of them and you’ve brought him here?” his voice got louder and Francis’ thrashing increased as well as his pleas. 

Alfred held up his hands and stood between Arthur and his two new companions. “Stop, just let Heracles explain,” he said, slowly walked towards the Brit and taking the small can out of his hand. “Just let him explain. Please,” Alfred looked into the other’s green eyes. “He can do it much better than I can, but you have to promise that you will not overreact or yell because I don’t know how many of them are out there and we already have Francis as a liability. I don’t need more. You all got that?” the two further away nodded while Arthur stood there, his mouth opening and closing. 

“When-when did you get so… stern?” 

Alfred shrugged, and his eyes went down cast, turned empty. “Just… listen to him,” Alfred walked away, letting the Greek inside properly and the door closed behind him. Thoughts came rushing in, the metallic smell of what must have been over twenty bodies, the thick warmth that coated his arms and shirt and weighed him down, all of his senses suddenly turning off and all he knew was the up and down movements until they finally stopped coming in. Then, everything went away and something heavy ran into his side and held on tightly; Alfred looked down and saw none other than Peter—who was gripping onto his red and white shirt sniffing loudly. The American crouched down and hugged the boy, and laid the other’s head against his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” He knew what was wrong, it was obvious. 

“I don’t like this,” Peter said, repeating his words from outside. “Not one bit.”

“Neither do I…”

Heracles watched as his companion walked off, Francis still tight in his iron grip, then turned to the two adults. “You look familiar…” he said, moving his bitten arm and pointing at Matthew. That blonde hair, those almost purple eyes and the curl. It was too much of a similarity to be coincidental.

Matthew nodded. “I would think. I saw you a couple days ago…” his words disappeared as he noticed a pink and purple mark on Heracles’ skin. “What… is that? I thought you were just infected with the iv tube.”

“I was bitten… I was infected with the virus, but—and for the life of me I can’t remember when—I was bitten. But it didn’t affect me.” 

Alfred looked over. “Wait, you didn’t tell me that!” 

“You didn’t ask and to be completely honest I forgot to mention it.” Heracles sighed and turned his arm around. “The needle bruise is on the other arm. But yes, it didn’t do anything to me.” 

Matthew nodded, the gears in his head visible turning. “So, it’s just a one time thing. You get infected once but getting it again won’t speed up the process.” 

“That still doesn’t explain why you had to bring him here!” Arthur said, a little too loud and the Frenchman only thrashed harder—his begging subsided to painful moans. 

“I will get to that, just be patient. Okay, you--” he pointed at Matthew, whose eyes hardened. “I was infected last yesterday.” 

“I know. It was around… eighteen hours ago,” his eyes lit up and he stood up walking closer. “So we just have to wait eighteen hours and… Francis? Will be back to normal. So the cure worked!” he had stumbled to remember the Frenchman's name.

“Then why is everyone acting so ballistic about it when the trail runners should look and act normal?”

Matthew shrugged. “We’ll just have to wait and see. Wait for the military to come and get us out of here until there aren’t anymore crazy people left.” 

“Is ‘crazy’ a scientific word?” 

“Shut up, Al.” 

Heracles placed his arm back around Francis and looked back outside. “We should move somewhere different. We don’t know how many can hear us and are on their way, especially this Francis like this.” 

“A mob just came by, chasing a helicopter,” Arthur said, turning back around and grabbing some things. “Who knows when they’ll be back.” 

The team stood there for a few moments, the only sounds coming from the crinkling of plastic bags and the grunts from the blonde man still struggling in pain. They all finally started to move, expect Heracles who stood there awkwardly, and collect food items and whatever liquid they could find. Alfred began to stockpile energy drinks and Matthew gave a concerned look. “Listen, bro, we might have to do all nighters and we’ll need to stay awake.” he tumbled in a few more cans into the cheap orange gas station bag he found, causing loud clanking noises that only seemed to agitate Francis’ sensitive hearing more.

“What happened with you two?” Matthew asked, grabbing some Gatorade and placing it into his own cheap blue bag. “In the stairwell.” 

“Nothing happened. I just started to panic and he helped me calm down. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

“Why did you start panicking?” Alfred gave him a look, and he continued quickly. “I understand this is an incredibly stressful situation, but you’re not one to panic easy.” 

“You would panic too if you had just killed fifteen people—crazy or not.” Another image flashed in Alfred’s head, they were getting closer and blood was dripping from his sagging cowlick and covering his glasses. Screams filled his ears, pleas for death and the constant yelling of how much it hurts. Someone tapped his shoulder and he flinched violently, hitting the metal holder and causing several cans to fall—which burst on impact— and the carbonated liquid covered their shoes, the lower part of their pants. “Shit! Sorry!” he yelled.

“It’s okay,” Matthew reassured and gave a thumbs up to Arthur: who had peeked around the corner to check what had happened. “But are you?” 

“I’m fine,” Alfred waved his hand in dismissal. 

Forty-five minutes and two snack fights later, the group finally got on their way. Checking the streets and surrounding buildings they found nothing to be of concern and walked out. There was a red bandana tied tightly around Francis’ jaw to muffle the screams and pleas, it was working so far. 

They walked along the concrete sidewalk, huddled together like penguins in the winter and as alert as a mouse in a large warehouse. Their footsteps and the slightly dragged feet of the Frenchman being all that was heard. It was quiet, no groans, no foot steps other than their own no matter how hard the group strained their ears. Something had fallen in the alley right where the group had just come up to, Peter made a tiny squeak and Alfred and Matthew held up their respective weapons only to see a tabby cat run off deeper in. They loudly sighed in relief and continued walking, weapons never faltering and hearts pounding in their ears. The distinctive chopping sound bumping in the air caused them to look up and see the black helicopter from before, though now smaller; Arthur pointed it out and the group quickly made way, walking faster than before so to not alert themselves get caught in by something maybe following at a distance. A broken door came up a head and one look up showed a brick apartment building and a protruding sign that read Mustard Seed, the group quickly got in. Alfred going in first, followed by Matthew, then Heracles, Peter, and lastly Arthur.

Inside was a whole other tail, bloodied walls, and doors smashed in. The buildings for low income and homeless families had always been of poorer quality, allowing easy access to one of the IV or bitten people who had gone wild and grabbed anyone in reach: tearing the place up and then all leaving once the damage had been done. The glass on the floor broke into dust as they all stepped on it and Heracles looked up. “There should be better rooms near the top, I wouldn’t think that anyone even made it up there before being turned.” ‘Poor bastards’ his thought followed. ‘Didn’t even know what hit them…” 

They made it to the stairs, allowing the Greek and Frenchman to go first seeing as they could get bitten multiple times over and still be normal (as normal as they could get) and they headed up the stairs, it being just as creepy as they stairwell and every so often Alfred would hear his own screams penetrating his mind. And every pool of blood they past brought the American’s memories to his apartment and the way his arms moved up and down as if they had a mind of their own. 

The group managed to find a decently held up door, and they opened it, no smell hit them and nothing could be heard. It was on the fourth and top floor, and the entire floor seemed to be like this even the stairwell looked cleaner the higher they got up. They all walked in, spotting two bunk beds. “I can take the floor,” Alfred said. 

“No, I’ve got it. Been sleeping on floors since I was eighteen,” Argued Heracles. 

“No, dude, seriously. You at least deserve a bed if you’re gonna be watching over him,” Alfred gestured to Francis and cringed as he saw the army of bite marks all over Heracles’ arm, which was bleeding. “Herc! You should have said something.” To which the other shrugged. Arthur kneeled, though staying far away, and took out the first aid kit. 

“We’ll take shifts,” Matthew decided for them all. “We’ve still got a long time left to get settled even before the evening,” He checked his watch: twelve-fifty. “Six hours of sunlight left, that’s plenty of time to get Francis locked somewhere and enough for us to at least look around the safer areas of the building.” 

They never left the room, only once to grab a washroom key to lock Francis up inside the toilet until he was cognitive enough to open it and hopefully that would not happen until the next morning, when they were all awake and ready to act. Alfred sat in a chair, the back rest facing forward and his legs spread out. “Alright for shifts I’ll go first at seven until twelve in the morning. Arthur you’ll go next, from twelve until four. Matthew you’re up from four until eight. And by then we’ll be all up.” 

“Alfred, I can take a shift,” Heracles said, frowning. “You think I can’t?”

“Yes! You just got out of an experiment yesterday, you’ve probably been running rampant for over eighteen hours! You need rest, okay? Besides, you’ve been yawning all day and we all would rather you sleep the night then fall asleep during your shift.”

Heracles grumbled and yawned, only proving Alfred’s point. “Fine…” he went over to a bed and stumbled on to it, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

“Did he… just like that?” Arthur whispered. “Lucky sod, takes me a good while to even get tired once I’m in bed.” 

Seven had come quicker than anticipated. The group, that were awake, had all eaten their beef jerky and warm gas station sandwiches before piling into bed, all exhausted from the days events. All expect Alfred, who had found energy as soon as he sat in the chair. Finally Francis’ groans hit his ears, they had all grown used to it during the wait for sunset, and he sighed pitifully. “Sorry, buddy…” he whispered. “You’ll be better soon. They all will as well… then we can just live our lives pretending this entire day never happened.” It would take a full week for everyone to be recovered, those who had been bitten during this night would have to wait longer than the rest. But were there any side effects? The question had Alfred thinking deeply, until Arthur softly patted his shoulder and he got up to rest for the night.

Arthur sat on the chair, himself almost falling asleep until he got used to keeping his eyes open. The growls came from the bathroom sounded again and he remembered who was there. “Alfred seems awfully fond of you, but I guess if you kill a bunch of homicidal people together it makes for a good bonding moment. Like partners in crime almost,” tears filled his green eyes and he rubbed them red with his dusty hand. “I was so worried, waiting for him to come back out. Sure it was a shock for him to be bringing back Heracles and you but bitten, but he was back and I couldn’t believe it for a second,” he shook his head and looked towards the door. “Why am I even speaking to you, god I’m going crazy--” a growl interrupted him and he laughed a little. “Okay, I’m not going crazy…” Arthur leaned his head back and smiled. “It’s so easy to talk when no one is listening, when no one can judge you for your feelings. You know, sometimes when I’m alone, I’ll just sit on the couch and talk to no one, speak mind for once, and it’s so much better than speaking to people. The silence listens and it doesn’t interrupt because it can’t, it just allows you to speak and to cry… it allows you to be you.” 

Matthew woke up to his watch beeping quietly, he turned it off and switched with Arthur, who wore a tired scowl, and he sat down with a huff. “Goodness I’m so tired…” he sighed. The sun had already started to rise in the distance and the soft but bright orange hue coloured parts of the room not covered by the blinds. “It’s pretty though, despite what happened… the sun rise is still here. The next day still came and time is still ticking, no matter how hard it is to believe—it is,” he watched his clock tick and all to suddenly it was three thirty. Matthew blinked and looked up, seeing the handle to the toilet moving up and down slowly. He sat silently as the door clicked over and over. “Francis…” he breathed, just watching as it moved slowly up and down. His heart raced and he wanted to alert the others, alert Alfred and Heracles especially whose bunks were right next to the door. But he could not move, only watch as the door clicked opened and it became slightly ajarred. The door suddenly close roughly, waking up the other two closest to him with a yell. Alfred had sat up, he heard the door clicking and raced to close it from his top bunk as it opened. 

“Bloody hell Alfred, couldn’t you have done that quieter?” Arthur said, yawning through most of his sentence. 

“Nope! Besides we’re all up now and I’m hungry so let’s eat!” 

Alfred got off the bunk and looked towards Heracles, who was still somehow fast asleep. “Let him rest, he’s been through a lot,” Matthew said, getting off the chair and grabbing his bag, his own stomach grumbling for food. 

“We should wake him up soon though,” said Arthur, who was grabbing a very cranky looked Peter. “Who knows when he’s last eaten.” 

“No, I don’t want to wake up!” Peter groaned, crocodile tears in his eyes. “I don’t like you very much right now…” he grumbled to Arthur and crossed his arms, and frowned at everyone who looked at him.

They all sat around in a circle and just ate slowly for several hours, chatting and playing with a cheap game Peter had snagged. Eventually Heracles got up and walked towards them, eating and playing—until he had fallen asleep sitting up, surprising the group yet again. Matthew watched beeped at ten-thirty, but by that time Francis had stopped groaning completely. “Where… what…” came the muffled whispers. The group got up quickly and Alfred walked towards the door. 

“Francis?” 

“Alfred? Mon ami is that you?’ He responded. 

“Yeah, it’s me. You okay?” 

“I’m… fine. Shaken, I feel like I’ve been on… something for the last—how long has it been?” 

Alfred shrugged, knowing the other could not see he worded his thoughts. “Around eighteen hours. You sure you’re okay? Not feeling bitey or anything?” 

“No, not like I was before.” 

“Alright!” Alfred opened the door and threw his arms around Francis. “Glad you’re okay buddy. I really am.” 

Francis slowly wrapped his arms around Alfred and sighed, tears dripped from his eyes and he sighed in relief. “As am I, mon ami, as am I.”


	6. Chapter 6: Out of Dodge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group leave the Mustard Seed with help and get to a safe place. What does being human mean? Alfred and Arthur have a heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is two months late, I have absolutely no excuses but I am so so sorry. It will not happen again.

A bang and running, six sets of feet pounding up the stairs. Doors being thrust open and clanking of heavy sounding metal.

The group looked at each other as the realization clicked: those down a floor from them were human, those who had been banging around were human. Francis was the first to speak after the first few seconds of realization. “It’s the military,” he whispered. Alfred looked out a window and sure enough, a couple of tanks stood tall; looking off to the left he saw trucks collecting over a hundred bloodied and confused looking people and driving off when full. The people outside stood there bloodied and shaking, some crying and others—children—wandering around with scared eyes, but not able to go past the line made. “What’s out there?” He whispered.

“They’re collecting us up, everyone is back to normal. Just like you said Matt—we gotta get out of this room and down there!” Alfred panicked and stood up, walking quickly towards the white door. 

“Alfred, are you mad?” Arthur whisper yelled, the American stopped and looked down at the Britt. “They have guns. One step too quick step and they’ll shoot you and claim self-defence.” 

“I thought that was just the police- ow!” Alfred whined, having had Francis throw an empty can at him with a sour face. His S.W.A.T. logo is visible despite the several layers of blood that coated it. He huffed and sat down, bumping loudly. “Fine, I’ll just wait for them to come up then…” he sat down with a thump and crossed his arms over his chest, but everything was silent. Not a footstep to be heard. “Oh shit…” The loud footsteps started back up again, as well as yelling for whoever was here to come with no weapons and their hands up. Francis stood up first, holding a hand to warn the others not to follow and walked towards the door. Loud knocking on the door was silenced as Francis knocked back. 

“My name is Francis Bonnefoy, my number is zero-three-five-seven. I have a group of five civilians here including one child under the age of ten and I need an immediate extraction and priority.” 

Again, all was silent for a minute before a deep voice replied. It had a thick European accent and was undoubtedly German. “Your number matches, I’m opening the door now Bonnefoy.” the Frenchman backed away a couple of steps and the lightweight door slid open easily, revealing a serious-looking man with a sharp chin and piercing blue eyes that managed to stand out despite the grey-tinted mask. “My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt, I’ll be in charge of your extraction to area eight.” 

Francis coughed and became pale, he looked back quickly before leaning in and whispering softly. Too soft for the group to make out, who just watched in slight confusion. “I thought area eight was used for… code twelves.” 

“This is code twelve.”

“But everyone is back to normal, this should barely be a code ten.”

“I don’t decide on what counts on which code, Bonnefoy, I just get the code and go on with it.” 

Francis took another step back and breathed a raspy sigh. “Okay,” he turned around. “Come on, let’s get going.” 

Arthur stood up suddenly, the people surrounding the probable captain flicked towards their weapons. “Hold on just a bloody second. What the hell is going on?” he asked, face stone cold and fists clenched tight. 

Francis held out his arms and walked over to Arthur. “Mon Ami, this isn’t something I can just say to you even if I knew what it was.” his voice just as hard as the other blondes and face slightly less made of stone. He rested his hand lightly on the Brits shoulder and brought them close. “It’s a serious issue, and we can’t stay in the city.” Arthur gave him an unconvinced and untrusting look, but backed off and sighed; turned around and began to collect his things, not speaking a word while the rest of the group watched in confusion before following in his example. 

Before long they were all out of the dingy apartment and out into the streets covered in what one could say was the walking dead, people’s faces and shirts bloodied. Most notably the thick deep red stains along their mouths and chins. They all stood in a semi-line, some wandering about while some curled up on the floor screeching sobs. A bloodied person, a woman, walked up to another. “Have you seen—” before she could get out another word the other woman screamed and pointed a finger at her, yelling ‘she-devil’ and ‘murderer’, and the look on the fearful woman’s face looked as if she knew or had seen the bloodied one. Arthur turned Peter’s face away from the crowd and into his shirt, earning a groan from the child. He hushed back harshly. 

The German S.W.A.T. lead them all to a black van, one of the few that wasn’t transporting hundreds of bloodied citizens, a private one for the actual force to use. They were all pushed in rather gently and were able to sit down, unlike those forced to stand on tired and battered legs. Ludwig got into the front of the truck and started it up, talking quietly on a black walkie to someone before placing it back on its large holder and starting up the car. It took off smoothly and only hit a few potholes, and a few painful harsh bumps that had the adults of the group cringing at what they had just ridden over. “Dude so… how far out are you taking all of us?” 

“The Red Cross is set up just three ticks away from us.” 

“And three ticks is?” Alfred asked, dragging out the ’s’ and shaking his head slightly.

“Just under twenty minutes,” Francis answered tiredly, his voice heavy and his head laid in his hands; letting his guard down for the first time in what seemed like days and might as well have been. 

“Bloomin’ heck,” Peter mumbled and laid his head against Arthur’s arm. “That’s gonna take ages.”

“Watch your language,” Arthur scolded with absolutely no bite, too tired to even look at Peter with a soft glare. 

“Yeah… better than spending twenty minutes with those crazy people though,” Heracles muttered, already half asleep.

“Dude, you were one of those crazy people.”

“You never saw, for all you know I could’ve just spent it running around.” The faded blood around his mouth and on the tips of his fingers disproved his statement. No one bothered to speak out. 

“Well, I agree with our friend,” Francis piped in. “They simply got better and had no one to explain what had happened to them, and no one to keep them in line when they went rampant…” he trailed off, hand moving up to touch the bite mark. “I didn’t hurt anyone did I?” 

Heracles shook his head. “Nah, I’ve already had my turn so you did no harm.”

“But I bit you…?” 

“Eh, it’s nothing, really.” 

Francis looked away, unconvinced, and to the front seat of the car. “So, Ludwig… this is it?”

“What do you mean?” he turned his head from the road for a quick second, affirming his attention, then looked back. His eyes dancing across the tarmac road and soon seeing the Red Cross flag in the distance. 

“I’m just wondering… was the first eighteen hours it?” 

“I wasn’t told, I was only told to bring civilians from the city to the zone. That’s it,” his eyes slanted. “And even if I was told anything, I wouldn’t be able to give any information away with them here.” 

The car pulled up, its breaks screeching to a stop and dirt flew up and around it. Everything went by quickly as they were pulled out of the car, shoved into a large white dome tent, had flashlights blinding them and proved with needles before finally being declared safe to leave. The tent was musky, thick with sweat and so humid when they had gotten back out their shirts clung and weighed down. The confused mumbles of people slowly filling out carried on for a mile before it all dispersed among smaller white dome tents; the ones used for hurricanes or other storms. Arthur had a tight grip on Peter, herding him away from any person that got too close for his liking, Alfred kept his brother in front of himself, and Francis and Heracles walked side by side with the American; who walked as though a stick were shoved up his rear end. “Loosen up, Alfred,” Francis whispered. “We are in one of the safest places to be.” 

“I shot people… children, women, men…” Alfred said. His mind was a white static, swirling around with the pained screams of those back in his apartment and he still wore the now brown blood. 

“They would have bitten you, you had to do it, Mon Ami…”

“I would have wanted someone to kill me,” Heracles pipped in. “When I was rampant all I could think about was the need to spread whatever was inside of me and the insatiable hunger that clawed at my stomach. I was barbaric, inhuman. I still feel inhuman,” he coughed into his sleeve. “I’m sure they are thanking you right now wherever they are… I would be.”

“Herc, buddy, don’t think like that. You are human- hell, you’re more human than half the people I know: you have empathy—” 

“Is that the only reason one is considered human?” 

 

The evening went by without a hitch, the group had received one of the larger tents, eaten a less than delicious meal at the small canteen, Francis and Heracles had another check-up, and then they all went off to bed. Passing out before their heads managed to reach the pillow and snoring the night away. All except Alfred, who laid wide awake on his pillow- sleep escaping him and thoughts of yesterday trapping his conscious in a prison of screams. His mind blanking, his arms feeling phantom movements. Up and down. Up and down. He has to stop them all, they cannot get to Matthew, Arthur or Peter. They cannot get to Francis and Heracles. Their screamed pleas ring in his ears, his mind a broken record; playing those moments over and over, and over again. He snapped his eyes open, breathing heavily and looking around for the arm that was just centimetres away from his arm; a bloody and deformed arm. Alfred sighed and wiped an arm down his sweaty face; matting his hair down to his head and his eyes blurred slightly. “God that was…” 

“Horrid?” finished Arthur, Alfred turned around quickly to see the Englishman sitting up in his bed; the bottom bunk. Their voices both low enough that they could barely hear each other. 

“Did I wake you up?” Alfred sat on the edge of his bed and his feet touched the warm grass, though he doubted the outside was like this. 

Arthur shook his head. “No, but you’ll wake Peter if you keep up your racket,” Peter turned around just that second and faced the white silicon tent wall. 

“You’ve gotten pretty protective over him” 

“I always have been.”

It was Alfred’s turn to shake his head. “Not like this…”

“Well, I’d bet anyone would suddenly turn overprotective for their little brother in a crisis like this,” Arthur mimicked the American’s movements and sat at the edge of his bed. “Want to go outside to continue this.” 

The fresh coolness of the outside was a bit less than welcoming, the duo shivering pups as soon as they had left the insulated tent and the grass ice cold. Considering it was the start of September, it was expected but not welcomed. They sat down on the hard grass, which dug into their skin with little needle heads and held their knees to their chests. “I get that— I do,” Alfred picked up the conversation from inside. “Just don’t go proxy on us.” 

“What do you mean?’ 

“You're the one who took sports medicine.” 

“That was in high school! Grade ten for the Queen’s sake! I barely remember my last semester’s courses.” 

“Am I the only one that remembers everyone's courses?” 

“Besides Matthew, yes. Now, I don’t remember them teaching anyone ‘proxy’ nor have I ever heard of it.” 

“Oh well, better not tell ‘ya in case you get any ideas.” 

“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“Can’t tell ya~” 

“Alfred!” 

“Mon Ami’s,” the duo turned around, guilt-ridden faces, as Francis popped his head out of the window. “Please, for the sake of everyone here: keep your fucking mouths quiet.” 

Alfred and Arthur looked at each other and laughed a little bit, Francis rolled his eyes and went back inside; whispering how that if they wanted to continue their flirting, they better take a walk instead.

They did just that.


	7. Two Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After only four days of peace, it all goes downhill.

Four days had passed without any incident, four days of mindless walking around the site, check-ups every other hour (for Francis and Heracles). All those days without significant incidents. Yet something had not sat right with Alfred, the American choosing not to share these thoughts with any of his friends, though he had considered Matthew; the man himself being a doctor was definitely open to theories on peoples wellbeing, but also had a tendency to judge his twin for being rude. He had instead chosen to just sit idly, watching the snow dance to the ground, his puffs of air that now look like smoke coming out of a factory and he turned its head to see Peter around with a few of the other children while Arthur chased after him. He chuckled as the Brit yelled once more with a bit more impatience for the child to be careful. 

Alfred’s attention was then brought to the two figures of his newfound friends returning to their dome. “Herc, Francy!” the two visibly rolled their eyes at their given nicknames and it only made Alfred smile with fondness. “How was the check-up?” 

“It would be great if they stopped pestering us every two minutes,” Francis sighed, draping himself across Alfred’s shoulders. “And the tent smells so horrible I’m surprised my nose hasn’t fallen off yet!” 

“It’s not every two minutes, every two hours. I think if it were that long there would be much more complaining. And we’d also be in the tent for—” 

“Mon Cheri, that was just a figure of speech.” 

Heracles smiled. “I know, I just like the look on your face whenever I take things too seriously,” he joined the two, sitting down on the frosty ground. “Reminds me of someone.” 

“You want a chair, buddy?” Alfred asked, getting ready to stand up and grab one of the folding chairs that laid against the neighbouring dome.

“No thank you…” The cold nipped at his legs and bottom, it made him feel something. Heracles had been doing this for that few days they had been under the Red Cross’ care; sitting in the slowly falling snow just to feel something. Feel more than the satisfaction of eating, more than numbness whenever they injected him with something and feel more than the slight dizziness that had been increasing over the past few days. It was working. Every time he sat down in the snow, stayed there until his pants soaked through, he felt just a little bit more human. Though that feeling in of itself had been fading quickly, and he could not place why. 

Alfred glanced over at Heracles, the man himself had been growing paler as time went on, finding himself just a bit more… 

“I’m going to get something to eat,” Heracles said, standing up and shaking off the snow. “My stomach has been screaming at me since we left the facility.” 

“They gave us breakfast there, it has only been half an hour since,” Francis stood up, concerned. 

“I know,” Heracles took a breath in. “Shit,” he breathed out. “Fuck, shit, fuck— it’s happening isn’t it.” 

“What’s happening?” asked Matthew, just leaving the white dome and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. 

“It’s not over.” 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Arthur!” Peter moaned, hanging limp as his brother practically carried him back to the domes. Arthur breathed in deeply, trying to ignore his younger brother’s whining and just focus on dragging him. “Arthur please! I really want to take a walk! Just by the gate—you can come with me if you want?” 

Arthur stopped, the snow underfoot making a weird squishing sound, and placed the younger on the floor. He crossed his arms. “Peter,” the child stopped his tantrum. “If we go on a small walk near the gate, we will walk towards the tents then head to ours. Is that clear?” Peter, who had been growing more and more excited with each word spoken jumped up and nodded. “Do you promise?” 

“I promise! I do promise!” Peter held out his pinky to show how serious he was.

“Alright,” Arthur met him halfway and interlocked their pinkies, and shook their hands up and down slowly. Taking his pinky back he said: “Now then, let’s go on a walk.” 

They took off, walking right by the small thin chain-lock gate. Arthur looked off into the distance, staring at the tree’s naked form; the leaves had all fallen to the ground and the premature snow had made then soft. He took the quiet of the walk, Peter having seemed to occupy himself with stepping on every visible leaf insight, to think back to last fall. Matthew had just started up a job in DNAMetrixs and within two weeks had racked up a paycheque so high they all decided to move to one of the biggest apartments in the heart of Toronto. Moving from a small two bedroomed basement-suite to a giant four-bedroomed suite was a shock and took some getting used to. During the month with Matthews's paycheques coming in, Alfred’s art commissions gaining traction and Arthur closer to getting his medical degree—they were all pretty excited for the future. Since they had missed out on Peter’s eighth birthday to keep up with rent, they all went out to explore the city and the child could get anything he wanted in reason. It was around this time as well, the snow had come much later and he remembered Peter almost getting run over because he had been too busy destroying every leaf in his site. 

“Peter keep by me,” Arthur said, holding his hand out and taking Peter’s. “Gosh, your hands are absolutely freezing.” 

Peter giggled as Arthur rubbed his hands, like making fire with two sticks. “Arthur—that tickles!” 

Arthur laughed kneeling down to have a tickle-fight, Peter most definitely loosing. He gave his brother a moment of breathing and was going to strike again when something caught his eye. A moving silhouette on the horizon. It was limping, staggering its way over here. Once it got close enough, Arthur could make out the clothes; a green crimson-stained sweatshirt, muddied and ripped cargo pants and sandals despite the dropping temperatures. “Oh my god,” he breathed out and picked up a confused Peter, and ran back toward the domes. 

>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Herc?” Alfred said, staying out of the plastic foldable chair and placing a hand on Heracles’ shoulder. Heracles faced him almost too quickly, shaking off the American and walking to the dome. The Greek’s eyes were unfocused like he could see right through Alfred, right through the other two who stood behind in worry. 

“Alfred?” he asked, eyes still unfocused and tearing up. “You’re blurry.” 

“What’s happening?” Matthew whispered. Eyes moving frantically about the Greek’s body, trying to decipher what was causing his ailment. 

“Shit—” Heracles said, backing away so quickly his legs buckled up and he hit the floor with a bang. “Stay away!” he cried. “It’s happening again!”

Alfred’s eyes widened. “No—no, no, no!” he dropped to his knees and began to feel Heracles’ forehead, finding it slick with sweat. “This should be over! They said it was over!” 

“Alfred,” Heracles said, all too calm, please stay away from me, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You should,” Francis agreed. “And away from me as well,” he backed away from them all, bumping into the neighbouring white dome. “I can feel something— something not good.” 

“Alfred!” came the terrified voice of Arthur. “Alfred I saw— oh shit!” he stopped short and placed Peter down and behind him. “I saw a man, bloodied. He was either tanned or extremely dirty…” Arthur left out the very much drunk-like walk the man had or the lack of feeling the late fall air. “They— they’re reverting back— it’s going to happen again.” He could not seem to get a single coherent sentence out of him, trying so hard to deny the situation and simply believe that they could go back to their apartment tomorrow, pretending none of this had ever happened. 

Alfred stood up, shoulders sagged and a defeated look. “You saw someone?” Arthur nodded. “What did he look like?” 

“Green sweatshirt, cargo shorts or really ripped pants, sandals— looked like he was on vacation.” 

“Brown curly hair? White mask?” asked Heracles. 

“I’m not so sure about the mask or hair, possibly so.” 

“That’s Sadik. If he’s already a dead man walking then I’m sure to follow soon,” Heracles’ head dropped to his neck and his entire body looked as though it was carrying the weight of the world on it.

Alfred was about to retort, but a loud shrieking siren went off and whoever seemed to be in a military uniform was off running to the gates; exactly where Arthur and Peter had come from. Matthew, who had walked over to Francis had stopped his assessment to watch as the men carrying larger than life guns run towards the gates, then a couple of the men had stopped and turned to run into a section of white domes. Matthew squinted the gears in his head-turning. Then he turned around, just in time to see Heracles shoot up and lunge for Alfred, who screamed and fell to the floor. Matthew ran towards his brother trying to pry off Heracles. The Greek man snapped his jaws at Alfred's shoulder and neck, not aiming for any particular location, but to anywhere large enough for his mouth. A large bang echoed in the commotion and Heracles fell limp on top of Alfred, he pushed the corpse off and looked to his right, seeing Ludwig there and a smaller man next to him. Ludwig gave Alfred a nod before taking the other man's arm and bolting away, running into a car where a small group of people were sat and then drove off. Alfred stood up and looked at his friend. 

“Alfred,” Mathew’s voice sounded so far away. “Alfred, we have to go. Now!” 

“I can’t leave him here,” he all but whispered, yet his voice still travelled louder than a yell. 

“We have to, there isn’t anywhere we can take him. He’d just slow us down.” 

The stairwell came back to Alfred’s mind when Heracles had grabbed Francis to protect him. He looked away, his eyes only watering but no tears fell. He nodded and looked at his brother. “Alright.” 

>━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They had been running for fifteen minutes, not stopping once and only when they could no longer hear the gunshots did Francis call for them all to stop. 

“I can’t go on like this,” he said, his hands on his legs as he fell to the frosty ground. “Tomorrow I’m going to turn out just like him.” The group stopped, all looking at the Frenchman as he shook his head to the snow. “I don’t want to become one of them, don’t want to…” the feeling of not being in control, lashing out like an animal with rabies, rose up. The insatiable appetite, his thoughts simply not being there, the need to sink his teeth into anything he came across. It all made him want to jump off a bridge or run back to camp acting crazy in hopes that any remaining people shot him where he stood. 

“We can worry about that when the time comes,” Alfred said. “Let’s just keep moving, AirCod is just a mile north, once we make it there--”

“Don’t you understand?” Francis yelled, his voice already going raw. “I can’t become one of them! Not again! It hurt and it still does!” Tears of frustration ran down his pale cheeks. “I don’t want to feel nothing, I don’t want to think nothing and throw myself against walls, I don’t want to feel like that! Just end me now, just kill me please Alfred. Please!” Francis collapsed to the floor, sobbing and coughing altogether. It was difficult to watch, but the group only stared as Francis writhed on the ground. 

“I can’t lose someone else today. I can’t lose another friend,” Alfred kneeled down and picked up Francis, giving him a giant hug. “But I know that I won’t be able to look into the eyes of a deadman and see nothing. No soul, no humanity, no…” the last word escaped him, he tried to think for a second before shrugging and pulling Francis away to stare into his human eyes. “We have to kill you.”

“I don’t like that word!” Peter said, sticking his head out from behind Arthur’s pants. With all the attention now on him, he proudly exclaimed: “I think we should change it.” 

“To what?” Matthew asked, nothing coming to mind.

“How about ‘Mercy’?” Arthur said quickly. “We are giving him mercy from becoming one of them, just as Heracles was given mercy.” 

Francis nodded, a smile forming on his face but tears still ran down. “Yes… I like that. I like that a lot, mon ami.” The two gave a nod to each other before Arthur looked out to the tree line.

“We don’t have a single weapon on us… how would we Mercy you?” 

“Hopefully something humane… I would like to keep my dignity even before my untimely demise.”


	8. Not a chapter

Hey guys, I’m no sorry to have kept anyone waiting, but I need to say this. While I’m not giving up the story some things have been going on in my life that I need to sort out before I can update it. My laptop being in repair for the last week is one of them, but that does not excuse the lack of updates from the past several months. Trust me, as soon as everything clears up (and it has been doing, hopefully an update will come this weekend!!) I will update! 

Thank you,  
Amateur Writer :)


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